


The Road Ahead

by Sweetgirl2019



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, Getting Back Together, Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetgirl2019/pseuds/Sweetgirl2019
Summary: After the heartbreaking 'promise ring' talk, Mickey and Ian are on the outs. They find their way back to each other but will the outside world let them be happy once and for all?
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is just my version of the engagement (in canon but with the missing pieces to fill the gaps) and just one way the season could have gone.

********

Standing in front of the mirror, Ian stared at his reflection for a long time. So much had gone wrong in the last few days. That morning before the cops had arrived, they’d been in bed together, warm and safe from the world outside. As much as Mickey always laughed their cuddling off, Ian knew that the tenderness touched Mickey’s heart in a way that matched his own. They had been happy, waking up to sweet kisses, hands roaming under the blankets, an openness to the way they loved one another. Then everything had gone wrong.

His proposal had gone to hell at the Courthouse, leaving Ian with a broken leg and an equally broken heart and Mickey angry and devastated from it all. Deep down, Ian knew that Byron was nothing more than a distraction, a way for Mickey to make Ian see what he was losing out on. But Ian already knew. Going over to Bryon’s apartment, he had wanted nothing more than to drag Mickey back into his arms where he belonged, to claim him as his own. But his fears had run wild. Frank and Monica, the only role models for marriage in his life, had scarred him in ways that left nothing more than bitterness behind. But as critical as that fractured exposure was, the fears of his bipolar were even stronger. How could Mickey love him when Ian didn’t know which version he would be down the line? He’d tried vocalizing his thoughts, to make Mickey understand where he was coming from. But the disappointment and heartbreak in Mickey’s eyes from Ian's misguided offer of rings was the sole memory he carried from the night.

When he had stumbled home after their painful chat, he had sat awake in bed until dusk became dawn, staring at the walls, thinking back on how badly everything had gone wrong. He missed Mickey stronger than he thought was possible, feeling the emptiness in his arms where his boyfriend had once belonged. With sleep a distant cry, all he had done was disappear into his own thoughts, his mind moving backwards to memories from another time. When Ian had first been diagnosed, Mickey had been his one solid. They had been kids trying to navigate their lives around a disease that neither could run away from. But against all odds of the unknown, Mickey had proven his love. His devotion and loyalty had been the rock for Ian to lean on and in every way that had mattered, Ian had ruined it all.

The memories of back then were too painful for Ian to focus on for too long. Thinking back to the time they had been apart, Ian had remembered his failed relationship with Caleb and the one he had shared with Trevor. Although he had cared for Trevor, Ian had always known it was nothing more than a rebound. As much as he had tried to give their relationship his all, his heart had longed for someone else. He had missed Mickey all throughout those months and seeing him after his escape at the dugouts had been the most awakening moment of all. His life was no longer blurry or dull. His heart had jolted seeing Mickey again and it was at that moment that he finally admitted the truth to himself. No one and nothing could take Mickey’s place in his heart. He was devoted forever no matter the space or time that kept them apart.

Sighing heavily, he ran a hand down his face as he looked at his reflection once more. With everything they had been through together and apart, all Mickey had wanted was for Ian’s commitment to match his own. Mickey’s refusal to back down or give in made Ian realize that words were no longer enough. After all the ways Mickey had proven his love, it was finally Ian’s turn to take the plunge. To make a grand gesture once and for all.

So why was he still scared of making that jump? He loved Mickey with everything inside him, deep down to his bones. Ian’s heart longed for him, craved him, yearned for his touch. All he wanted was to kiss him again, to hold him, to make love to him in their bed, in the safety of each other’s arms. But he was so afraid of destroying everything even worse than before. If they were to take that step and get married, if they wrapped those rings of forever around their fingers, would either of them survive if it didn’t work out?

_Stop being afraid. Mickey has loved you through your worst, stood by you through it all. Man up and make the gesture._

The voice was loud and insistent in his mind. As much as he knew the choice he had to make, the niggling fear refused to silence down. Making Mickey jealous was his dumbest idea of all but if his fears refused to shut down, desperate times called for drastic measures.

Grabbing his phone, he switched the camera to himself and smiled. Twisting his head in different angles, he snapped one photo after another. The smile on his face was forced and a part of him hated the idea of creating a dating profile but he needed Mickey to give him the time of day, for them to have a conversation just with themselves. If bringing a date finally got Mickey’s attention, then that was the choice Ian was leaning on. What he would say when the moment came, when Ian finally had Mickey all to himself, he was still working out. He would let his heart guide him when the moment sprung.

“What are you doing?”

Ian spun around to see his youngest brother watching him from the doorway, brows furrowed together in confusion. “Trying to find the right Grindr profile picture. None of the ones I put up got any hits.”

“Grindr? Aren’t you still in love with Mickey?”

“Yeah, I am,” Ian said, his shoulders falling from exhaustion. “But there was the whole half proposal thing and the whole ‘him getting a new boyfriend’ thing and the promise ring thing. I’m desperate. I stupidly told him I have a date for tonight at this concert _Byron_ invited me to and now I actually have to find one.”

“Sorry I asked. Let me see those pictures,” Liam chuckled as he grabbed the phone and swiped through the gallery. “These are putting me to sleep! No one wants to date their youth pastor from their Grandma’s Church. Did you consider spicing it up? Why not take your shirt off or something?”

“I’m looking for a date, not a hookup,” Ian said, shaking his head at the thought.

“The way you’re headed, you’re not gonna get either one,” Liam offered, his smirk on full display.

“Gimme that!” Ian grabbed the phone away, watching as his younger brother laughed on his way out. He took a breath and stared at his reflection in the mirror again.

_Desperate times_.

Lifting the side of his shirt, he snapped a photo of his chest and took a moment to review the goods before adding it to his profile.

“Are you taking a nip pic?” Lip asked, his sudden voice making Ian spin around.

“Does anyone around here fucking knock?”

“The fucking door was open,” Lip deadpanned. “Why are you taking a half naked photo of yourself? Are you sexting with Mickey?”

“No! What the fuck?” Ian exclaimed, his face scrunching together.

“What’s going on?” Debbie asked as she entered the doorway, Franny tight in her arms.

“Ian’s taking naked pictures of himself,” Lip offered.

“Jesus Christ, I’m not taking naked pictures!”

“Are you sending them to Mickey?” Debbie asked.

“No, it’s for his Grindr profile,” Liam said as he popped his head between the others. “He’s trying to make Mickey jealous and he needs a date for some concert Mickey and his new twink boyfriend are going to tonight.”

“Can all of you fuck off?” Ian snapped.

“Guessing the talk didn’t go so well last night?” Lip said, the mocked sympathy make Ian narrow his eyes. “Thought you were gonna propose.”

“I kinda told him they were promise rings,” Ian mumbled.

“Holy shit,” Lip chuckled. “What are you, a teenage girl?”

“I’d have kicked your ass,” Debbie nodded before she twirled around and walked out.

“Look, I know I fucked up _again_. I don’t need you telling me that,” Ian muttered.

“Making Mickey jealous is your answer right now?” Lip snorted.

“I don’t fucking know, alright? I’ll figure shit out when I get there,” Ian said, his shoulders dropping. “In the meantime, I need a date.”

Before Lip could comment, Ian slammed the door in his face, glaring when he heard his brother’s laughter disappear down the hall. When he was sure the coast was clear, he yanked the door back open and hobbled towards his bedroom with the crutches tight under his arms. The moment he stepped foot inside, his eyes caught on the bed, giving him pause. Every morning since Mickey had walked out, Ian had woken up clinging the second pillow, smiling, believing that his boyfriend was safe and warm in his arms. Bitter disappointment and a pain he felt deep in his heart were what he was left with when he would open his eyes. Reality was the biggest bitch and Ian had brought it all down on himself.

Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he took a final look around the room and grabbed his wallet. The crutches were annoying on a good day but he stumbled his way down the stairs, falling onto the couch when the effort tired him out. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and Mickey’s face was there again like it always was.

\----

_“Would you sit still?”_

_“It fucking stings,” Mickey grumbled._

_“I’ve seen you beat the shit out of a bunch of guys without breaking a sweat. A bit of rubbing alcohol and you’re twisting around like a baby,” Ian chuckled._

_The answering finger made Ian smile fondly as he pressed the wipe against the cut on Mickey’s forehead. Once the bruise was properly cleaned, he dropped the supplies in the trash and turned around. Mickey’s eyes were wide as he started up at him, making Ian’s heartbeat tick faster. He couldn’t believe that Mickey was free, released from prison, and back in his arms. After their bittersweet goodbye a few days back, Ian had done everything he could to stop a depression from taking on. They had thought that years would separate them but having Mickey back so suddenly, both of them free for the first time in so long, all Ian wanted was to hold on and never let go._

_Slowly kneeling down, he raised his hands to Mickey’s face, fingers twining behind the strong neck he loved so much. Pulling their faces close, he brushed their lips together and felt another jolt inside him when Mickey gave himself over to the warmth of Ian’s touch._

_“I can’t believe you’re here,” Ian whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “We’re both here, we’re together, we’re free.”_

_“Fucking finally,” Mickey whispered back, the meaning behind his words not lost on either._

_After so much had kept them apart, years of heartache and loneliness, they were finally together, free against every odd. As much as Ian knew Paula was a threat, one he would soon be cluing Mickey on, he refused to let anything break the tender moment._

_“I love you,” he breathed out, bringing their lips together again. Trailing his hands down, he reached for Mickey’s belt and dragged it out._

_“We just took a fucking shower,” Mickey chuckled but the breathless response spoke against his words._

_“That’s not enough,” Ian replied, his voice breaking from the emotions that were running wild inside his heart. “Come here.”_

_Lifting to his feet, he pulled Mickey with him towards their bedroom. With the door locking behind them, they fell on top of the mattress, hands reaching for clothes, a desperate need within them to feel one another again, to make sure the moment was real._

\----  
  
“Daydreaming about Mickey?”

Snapping his eyes open, Ian pulled out of the memory to see Liam leaning over the back of the couch.

“Get any hits yet?”

Logging back into his Grindr account, Ian scrolled to the inbox as his brother watched from behind. “That shirtless picture’s getting me tons of attention. You were right.”

“Of course I was,” Liam grinned, moving to sit beside him.

“So was I. None of these are for dates,” Ian said, voice bored as he scrolled through the messages. “Dick pic. Butthole pic. Offer to eat my ass. Dick pic. Orgy invite. Dick pic. No idea what that one is.”

Missing the horrified look on Liam’s face, Ian scrunched his eyes as he stared at the grainy photograph.

“Oh wait. That’s a dick,” he said, moving to the next message and finally stopping. “Hold on. This guy, Cole, says he’s always looking for an excuse to put on his best outfit and he loves live music. He’s cute. Seems normal.”

“Guess you have your date,” Liam shrugged. “Where you gonna meet him?”

“Neutral ground. The Alibi,” Ian said as he finished sending his reply. “The concert’s at this other bar just down the street.”

“And you think all of this will work in getting Mickey back?” Liam said before he reached out and pat Ian on his arm. “Good luck.”

When his brother was long gone, Ian leaned back and closed his eyes again. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend the memories ingrained in his mind were his actual reality instead of the loneliness he was caught inside.

  
********  
  


With the band taking a quick break from the stage and Byron busy with his friends, Mickey leaned back against the wall and raised the beer to his mouth. After Ian had mentioned his date for the night, a new boyfriend he had found, everything inside him had wanted to spill out. The ache in his chest had continued to grow long after Ian had hobbled away. When Mickey had broken things off, his heart had been a mess. Ian proposing and hesitating within the span of a few hours had shattered him to the ground. The trip to the hospital, neither had talked. He had waited with Ian until the cast had been fitted and ridden back to the Gallagher house when Sandy had picked them up. His apology had been sincere but when Ian had reached out to draw him in, Mickey had stepped back. The look in his eyes had revealed the words his mouth couldn’t speak and Ian had known in an instant that they were done.

Byron was nothing more than a distraction, a way for Mickey to bide his time until Ian would open his eyes. What he had wanted was for Ian to fight, to show Mickey he was committed once and for all. After the way everything had gone down with Svetlana, it had taken Mickey years to wrap his head around the thought of marriage a second time. But Mickey had always known deep inside him that Ian was the only one he would ever risk it on. The love he had for Gallagher knew no bounds and all he wanted was to feel that love for himself. He had been counting the seconds, hoping for Ian to open his eyes, to fight for him the way Mickey had so many times. Instead, Ian had thrust a promise ring in his hand. He’d made excuses for the fears he had, worried that Mickey could never love all the versions of himself he was carrying around. Worried that they would be Frank and Monica.

As real as those fears may have been, they did nothing more but expand the anger in Mickey’s gut. How many times after that fateful night at the Alibi had Mickey proven his love? How many times had he stayed by Ian’s side? Returned to him? Forgiven him? Loved him with no end in sight? Had all those sacrifices been meaningless? Did Ian really not understand the depth of what Mickey felt? That he would never abandon him? That he was locked in til the end of his life?

He’d been the one afraid all those years back and Ian had shown patience and understanding for a long while, waiting for Mickey to come around. But Mickey had always thought his coming out had been the tip of the iceberg, giving them the freedom they both desired. Instead of the future he longed for, Mickey had been dumped, abandoned, left at the border, denied at the Courthouse. He’d forgiven a lot during their time together in prison and overlooked the rest but his heart could only take so much.

He wanted nothing more than to drop the charade with Byron, to go home to the Gallagher house to the only person who had ever truly mattered in his heart. But enough had been enough. Mickey had put himself out there one too many times. If Ian wanted him, it was his fucking turn to prove it all.

Lowering the beer, he heard voices behind him and turned his gaze to see Ian hobbling inside with his _date_. The blond was busy on his phone, laughing away, and all of a sudden, the dread Mickey had been feeling was gone. All he could do was laugh as he watched Ian stare at the other man with wide eyes. That morning, Mickey had thought Ian’s words had been real, that he had found a replacement to fill the void, that he had truly moved on. He had hated Ian after their talk, hated thinking he was the only one dying on the inside but seeing the _date_ did nothing but make Mickey smile.

When the blond made his way towards the bar, Mickey finally took a step forward, smirk in place when Ian reluctantly turned around. “What the fuck is that?”

“That is Cole. He’s my date,” Ian said, his smile forced.

Mickey nodded as they stared at the other man twerking on his own by the counter. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s getting us drinks,” Ian replied before he turned to fully face him.

“So that guy’s the swinging dick fairy tale you attached yourself to?” Mickey asked, grinning behind his bottle.

The deer in the headlights look in Ian’s eyes made Mickey’s smile grow fond. But he quickly swallowed the rising emotions and cleared his throat, reminding himself of the reality they were caught inside.

“Where’s Byron?” Ian asked, cutting through the silence.

Mickey tilted his chin to the side and they watched as the shorter man laughed with the small group of friends he was standing beside. When their eyes met each other again, their gaze lingered, neither able to look away until Mickey finally moved back.

“See you around,” he said, leaving before Ian could give a response.

Watching him go, Ian threw his head back with a sigh. All he wanted was to fix what he had broken but words were no longer easy. When the band began singing on the stage moments later, Ian let his attention drift.

_All the good things about you_

_All the good things about you_

His gaze steered away from the band and froze on Cole standing at the bar, chatting on his phone with a drink in his hand. Glancing through the sea of faces, Ian’s eyes found Mickey again and his heart suddenly fell. With Byron busy with his friends, Mickey stood behind the group, back against the wall, beer no longer in his hand. The flash of memory was so sudden that Ian stumbled backwards, triggered by the heartbreak he could feel from across the room.

_“Can I have everyone’s attention please? I just want everybody here to know I’m fucking gay. A big old ‘mo. I just thought everybody should know that."_

Mickey’s voice was loud in Ian’s mind, reminding him of the freedom he’d given their love that fateful night. Closing his eyes, Ian let the music fade away as flashes of moments flooded back to him, words that Mickey had spoken, words that would forever count. His hands gripped the crutches tight, letting the words settle inside his heart.

_"Of course we are.”_

_“Sorry I’m late.”_

_“I love you.”_

_"Fuck, I missed you."_

_"Don't."_

_"I knew you’d come.”_

_“You’re under my skin.”_

_"You ever think about me when I was in the joint?"_

_“It means thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health and all that shit.”_

_“I love you, too.”_

_“Are you happy now?”_

The memories of those moments flashed by, one bleeding into the next. Mickey’s reluctance to accept his sexuality had been one of the largest hurdles in their path but after that night at the Alibi, he had faced his fears and given their love a chance. He had risked it all and gifted Ian with a love that was pure, intense and completely profound. How had Ian managed to wreck that gift the way he had?

Snapping his eyes open, his gaze locked with Mickey’s across the room and suddenly, the rest of the world dimmed out. The band continued to sing, Byron was laughing on the side and Cole was making a scene between the moving crowd but all Ian could see was Mickey and nothing else.

All Ian wanted was to rid them of their mirrored heartache, to end the separation they were caught inside. He wanted to prove to Mickey that their love was real, that their love for each other was worth it all. Like a light that had finally switched on, suddenly Ian’s eyes were wide open. His fears of Frank and Monica, fears of his bipolar were no longer loud.

He and Mickey had been destined from the start. So many hurdles, they’d lived through. So many troubles, they’d survived. They were no longer kids afraid to admit the depth of how they both felt. They were standing across a room, with several feet of space between them, several feet too long. Ian’s mind was suddenly clear, his heart full of peace, full of a love he couldn’t describe. He was tired of the excuses, tired of being the reason they were apart. He loved Mickey with everything inside him and nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.

Mickey had looked away in the span of those seconds, his attention falling on the band as they finished their song.

_All the good things about you_

_All the good things about you_

Gripping his crutches tight, Ian made a move to cross the room when his eyes fell on Cole leaning in to draw Mickey into a talk. With the space in front of him suddenly crowded, Ian switched his direction and made his way from the other side. The moment Byron’s voice registered, he froze in his movements and slowly spun around.

“I hooked up with him once and he moved in,” Byron scoffed, his friends laughing from the booth they were standing beside. “Now he won’t go. I was hoping, since I got his ex here, that maybe he’d take him off my hands. Please, God.”

Ian felt the blood inside him begin to boil as he moved closer.

“He’s dumb, he’s rude, he’s politically ignorant,” Byron continued, not realizing the presence behind him. “He’s violent, he’s socially inept. I don’t even think he can read and he’s way too aggressive in bed and _not_ in a good way.”

“Alright. You convinced me. I’ll take him off your hands,” Ian cut in, enjoying the shocked look on Byron’s face when the shorter man spun around. “Is this what you do when you don’t like somebody? You bash ‘em behind their back? Get a good laugh at their expense with your fucking friends? Try to pawn him off to some other guy?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean…,” Byron started but Ian stepped in his space and tilted his head to the side, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Byron, Byron, come on. I know exactly what you meant,” Ian said as he pulled the crutches from under his arms. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not the kind of guy who lets people talk shit about the man he loves. Could you hold these for me?”

The moment Byron grabbed the aids, Ian pulled his arm back and threw a sudden jab. With the crutches clattering to the side, Byron fell to the ground and Ian was on him in an instant, throwing punches. He heard the music die in the background as the crowd slowly gathered around them but all he could focus on was the skinny little man who had made the mistake of opening his mouth. Byron’s friends jumped in to defend him but Ian was quick in his movements, fighting each of them off. As his eyes shifted across the room, he caught Mickey striking Cole down but his focus quickly moved back to the three men he was beating on. The two friends finally rolled away with matching groans, giving Ian the chance he needed to throw a final punch at Byron’s bruised jaw.

“Hey!”

Breathing heavily from his kneel on the floor, Ian lifted his gaze to see Mickey standing close by, glancing at the beaten bodies scattered around them. When their eyes finally met, Ian could see the confusion staring back. He could see the hurt and the pain, the heartbreak and sadness that his anxieties had caused. As valid as his fears had been, when Ian thought about the story of their life, the future both of them wanted, a future that was within touching grasp, those fears didn’t matter at all. Him and Mickey together, married and in love, never again apart. Nothing else made sense but that.

“I love you, Mickey Milkovich,” he started, swallowing against the thickness in his throat. “More than anything.”

Mickey stood in silence, his expression unreadable. Both were oblivious to the watching world around them, their eyes only on each other.

“You and me, that’s the one thing that’s always made sense,” Ian continued, blinking against the wetness he felt. “I was so afraid that taking that step would ruin things in the long run, that I wasn’t worth the commitment you wanted. But all of that, all of those fears, they’re background noise, Mick.”

Mickey blinked against his own sudden tears, no longer able to hold his emotions as he stared down.

“Fuck, Mickey, I _love_ you and I want this life with you. Us, together, married, I’ve wanted that for so many fucking years. I just let everything else get in the way of that,” Ian said, his smile softening. “You and me. That’s all that matters. That’s all I want, all I’ve ever wanted and if you’ll let me, I’d like to spend the rest of my life…”

“Jesus Christ, save the fucking speech, you pussy,” Mickey cut him off.

Ian took a sharp breath as he waited, their eyes locked on one another, the air between them charged.

“I’ll marry you,” Mickey finally said. “Of course I’ll fucking marry you.”

The relief that Ian felt came with a sudden jolt. Ignoring his throbbing fist and the pain in his leg, he jumped to his feet and grabbed at Mickey’s face, fusing their mouths together. The moment their lips touched, all the ache inside him was gone. His heart was full again, beating to the sound of Mickey’s name etched across. He could hear the distant echo from the crowd, surprised and awed, but nothing mattered over the feel of Mickey’s lips against his own or the slow swipe of their tongues. The gentle hands Ian felt against his hair made his heart beat even faster.

“Fuck,” Mickey whispered when they finally pulled back.

Ian ran a thumb across Mickey’s lips, bruised and swollen. His gaze darkened at the way Mickey stood before him, mouth open, ready and waiting with nothing but love in his eyes. He lowered his face and let his lips trail against the heated skin of Mickey’s neck. A raw part of him, deep down inside, craved to claim Mickey as his own. A possessiveness that he rarely allowed was no longer afraid of bursting out. They belonged together, belonged to each other and Ian yearned to let the world around them understand.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Mickey whispered, pushing him backwards by an inch.

The sudden noise at their feet burst through their fog and they finally looked down. Turning towards a bruised Byron on the ground, Ian smiled when Mickey walked over the fallen man to grab the crutches.

“We’ll come by and pick his stuff up tomorrow. He’s got a key so we’ll just let ourselves in,” Ian explained. “Do yourself a fucking favor and be out.”

Byron made a painful noise that both ignored. The smile in their eyes was matching as they walked around the wounded group and made their way outside. The moment they were in the chilly night air, Ian spun around and yanked Mickey towards him, desperate to feel the lips against his own.

“Can’t believe you fucking beat 'em up,” Mickey laughed when they pulled back.

“He was talking shit about you.”

“Who gives a shit?” Mickey frowned.

“ _I_ fucking do!” Ian said, his anger coming back. “Someone talks shit behind your back, I’ll fuck them up.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Mickey said but the smile on his face was fond.

“I love you, Mick,” Ian said, holding onto his crutches as he nuzzled their foreheads together. “No more fucking excuses.”

“Yeah, alright,” Mickey whispered, his hands moving up to gently hold Ian’s face, their kiss gentler than the last.

“Can we go home now?” Ian asked after a while.

Mickey smirked as he walked towards the road, hailing the first taxi he could find. As they sat in the backseat, bodies pressed close, Ian tangled their hands together and brought them over to his own lap. He could hear Mickey’s gentle laugh and memorized the sound, closing his eyes and feeling a peace deep inside him.

When the cab pulled away from the Gallagher house minutes later, Ian leaned against the fence and dragged Mickey closer. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Mickey said, his voice quiet as he ran his hands down Ian’s chest. “You fucking sure about it this time?”

“Mick, look at me,” Ian said, waiting until their eyes had met before speaking again. “A hundred fucking percent, I’m sure. Us together, married. I love you and I want that.”

“Alright, Jesus,” Mickey said, looking away as his cheeks flushed.

“Why’d you hit Cole?” Ian suddenly asked.

“Fucker was saying shit he wanted to do with your dick,” Mickey growled, the sudden shift in his voice making Ian’s smile widen.

“Jealous?” he grinned.

“Of that guy? Fuck no,” Mickey said, but he leaned in as he spoke. “Just hate hearing that shit.”

“Well, if it helps, my dick belongs to you,” Ian said casually. “Just like your ass belongs to me.”

“Would you get in the fucking house?” Mickey chuckled, stepping back and watching as Ian laughed his way up the stairs.

When the door opened and Ian had walked inside, the sudden sound of an engine made Mickey stop and glance over his shoulder. A back van made a turn down their street and slowly drove past the house, the windows too tainted for Mickey to see through. Once the car had disappeared down the road, Mickey blinked himself back to the present and walked inside, the door falling shut behind him. Carl and Liam were on the couch, Debbie and Franny between them with the smell of garbage seeping through the air. Lip and Tami were on the arm chair, Freddie bouncing between them as the TV sounded off in the background.

“Hey Mickey,” Liam greeted, his smile sincere when he looked up. “Guess the jealousy plan worked?”

“Did you see his fucking date?” Mickey chuckled.

“Well, you’re back so I’m guessing something worked out?” Lip added.

“Yeah,” Ian smiled, eyes locking with Mickey’s again. “We’re fucking engaged.”

All three of his brothers were first to their feet, genuine congratulations spilling out. Debbie gave them high fives while Tami smiled from afar.

“We gotta celebrate,” Lip exclaimed when he and Ian pulled back from a hug.

“Sounds good but we’re kinda wiped out,” Ian replied. “Can we do it in a couple days? Maybe at the Alibi or somewhere else?”

“Yeah, for sure. We’ll make a plan,” Lip said, moving away to let them walk past.

The voices finally died down when they were back inside their bedroom. Closing the door behind him, Mickey turned around to see the crutches leaning against the wall, Ian watching him with a sweet smile, the rings pressed over his palm.

“Come here,” Ian whispered.

Sitting beside each other on the mattress, they stared at the rings for a long moment. Ian reached over to take Mickey’s hand, touching gently as he slowly slid the ring across his finger. He heard the sharp breath and looked up to see a world of emotions shining in Mickey’s eyes.

“Fuck, this is happening,” Mickey said, blinking back the wetness from spilling out. “After all that shit with Svetlana and then you hesitating and shit…”

“Mick,” Ian started.

“Lemme get this shit out,” Mickey cut him off. “For a long fucking time, I didn’t think I’d get this again. Too many fucking things just kept going wrong.”

Ian looked down at the words, the shame he always felt spiking inside him.

“You make me happy, man. What you and I have makes me free, remember?” Mickey said, his voice barely above a whisper as Ian met his eyes. “Just don’t fucking leave me again.”

“Never,” Ian said.

The quiet vow made Mickey take a deep breath as he took the second ring and slid it over Ian’s hand. Their fingers tangled in the darkness of the room, clinging to one another, neither willing to let go.

“I’ll never fucking leave you either. You know that, right?” Mickey finally said, running the back of his free hand across his eyes.

“Come here,” Ian said, pulling their faces together.

The touch of lips was gentle, a soft press between them. The shades were partially hung, allowing the moon to peak inside through the glass. Lifting himself up, Ian pushed Mickey backwards on the mattress, covering his body with his own. Their lips stayed fused as one, their hands tender in their strokes as they pushed themselves closer. They had the whole night to be together, to let their bodies speak for the love screaming inside their hearts. But in that moment, all they wanted was to be close. Laying on their sides, Ian draped the blanket over their bodies and closed the gap. 

“I love you,” he whispered, the hushed words making Mickey’s smile soften.

“Love you too, Gallagher.”

They stared at one another for a beat longer before they leaned in, lips pressing together in the silence.


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still in canon here but I'm adding my own story as well. Oh, and that wedding? O M G !!!

********

“Did Lip seem a little off to you the past couple days?” Ian asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he watched Mickey dress.

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know. Like he has something on his mind,” Ian said, shrugging quietly. His smile quickly reappeared as his eyes scanned over Mickey’s bare legs before the jeans filled them. “Come here.”

Turning around, Mickey finished zipping his pants as he walked over. Ian yanked him between his open legs, letting his hands move to the back of Mickey’s thighs, rubbing up and down.

“I always thought you had nice legs.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey chuckled, running a hand through Ian’s hair.

“When do you see your parole officer?” Ian asked, pressing a kiss over the shirt covered stomach before him.

“Next week. Do gooder Larry said he’s got some news for me but he had to run outta town or some shit. Probably another fucking security job.”

“Anything’s better than Paula, right? At least Larry’s a nice guy,” Ian said. “My shit's still up in the air. Gotta wait 'til my leg heals up and then I go back in, see who they assigned me.”

Mickey made a noise and turned to move away but Ian was quick to drag him back in, grinning from ear to ear.

“Got something on your mind, Gallagher?”

“Got a lot of things on my mind,” Ian said, fingers slowly pulling Mickey's zipper down. “Like wanting to get my mouth on you right now.”

The gagging noise from behind made them spin around to see Debbie standing in the doorway.

“Do any of you ever fucking knock?” Mickey muttered, reaching down to fix his jeans.

“Need something, Debs, or can we get back to what we were doing?” Ian asked, gaze locked firmly on his sister.

Rolling her eyes at the comment, she crossed her arms and leaned forward. “You guys planning on the Courthouse or a nice, fancy wedding?”

“We just got engaged a couple weeks ago. Haven’t really talked about it yet,” Ian shrugged. “Anything else?”

“Sorry, go back to sucking your boyfriend’s dick,” Debbie said as she left the room.

“My fiancé’s!” Ian shouted after her.

When he looked up again, the fondness he saw in Mickey’s eyes made his smile soften. Rising from the bed, he pushed their bodies close together, arms spreading around Mickey’s frame. Their lips grazed against each other until Ian pressed his nose to Mickey’s hair and breathed him in. Before either could make a move, Carl's thundering footsteps across the hall made them pull away.

“Rain check?" Ian asked, the disappointment in his voice making Mickey laugh. "You want the usual for breakfast?”

“Yeah, be right down.”

Waiting until Ian had left the room, Mickey leaned his back against the wall, holding his hand up in the air. His eyes fell on the silver band snug around his finger and couldn't stop the smile that curved his lips. Remembering the night of the concert, the way everything had fallen into place, he felt for the first time in ages, that everything would finally be okay. He and Ian could have the happy ending they’d always wanted.

_"Mickey!”_

His Father’s scream hit him like a ton of bricks, dragging him out of his trance back to the bitter reality they lived in. Moving towards the window, he peered down to see Terry thundering down the sidewalk towards the house.

_“Mickey!”_

Rubbing the frustration from his face, he walked towards the closet and reached inside the small box he had wedged on the top shelf, high enough that Liam and Franny would never find it. Grabbing the gun hidden inside, he slipped it behind his belt and made his way downstairs, catching Ian peering out through the window.

_“I know you’re in there, you fucking homo! Hey, Mick! You faggy faggot!” You’re never gonna marry that Gallagher queer, you hear me? MICKEY!”_

“Your Dad’s here,” Ian said, turning towards him, eyes full of worry.

_“How about I slice your pansy dicks and stick ‘em on a fucking float?”_

“Yeah,” Mickey said, yanking the door open and walking outside.

“I got a little conversion therapy for you,” Terry started, missing the way his son’s eyes blinked at the words. “You suck a dick, you die.”

“Would you shut the fuck up?” Mickey snapped. “You’re annoying the shit outta everybody.”

“Well, if it isn’t the little shirt lifter,” Terry muttered. “Just wanted you to know, you marry a man, I’m putting a fucking bullet in your head. Simple as that.”

“Why wait, bitch? I’m standing right here.”

Terry was quick to reach for his gun, eyes narrowing when Mickey did the same.

“Oh, look at that. We must shop at the same gun show,” Mickey taunted.

“The fuck happened to you?” Terry asked, looking up from the barrel aimed towards him.

“Well, you know what they say. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“It does if it lands on a dick!” Terry barked.

“Oh please, stop. I get it, alright? You’re proud of me,” Mickey said, gesturing at himself with a sarcastic wave.

“You must really love cock."

Triggering the gun, Mickey took a small step forward. “I definitely love one.”

Sizing his son up, Terry eyed him for a final second before he lowered the gun and pushed past him down the pathway. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Good talk, Pops,” Mickey said, watching Terry disappear around the bend. The moment he was gone, Mickey finally lowered his own gun and grabbed his phone instead. “Sandy, can you get over here? Need a fucking ride.”

Ending the call, he looked towards the house and saw Ian watching him from the open door.

“Mickey, what the fuck? Were you and Terry aiming guns at each other?”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed.

“Mick,” Ian started, moving down a couple steps. “Where’d you even get a gun? That violates your parole, by the way.”

“Think I wouldn’t have a gun with that fuckhead running around out here?” Mickey exclaimed, looking back towards the street as a beat up Chevy pulled up beside them.

“Milkovich Chauffer, at your service,” Sandy said, her smile wide as Mickey climbed in the other end. With Ian watching them from the house, she pulled away down the road and tossed him a sideway glance. “You gonna tell me what’s up with the dramatics? Where are we going?”

“Drug store.”

Sandy nodded as she made another turn. “I saw Terry fuming back towards the house. That have anything to do with this?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Mickey muttered.

“You gonna drug him?”

“What? No!” Mickey snapped his head towards her.

“Poison him?”

“Would you fucking quit it?”

“Well, what then?” she asked, parking the car on the curb and following him inside the pharmacy.

Ignoring her question, he marched through the aisles until he reached the cashiers in the end. Moving towards the stack of magazines lined up against the wall, he glanced through the pile until his eyes fell on the one he wanted.

“Wedding magazine?” Sandy chuckled, watching him add sticky notes and a stack of pens before she followed him to the register. “Well, that’s one way to fuck with him.”

When they were back inside the car seconds later, Sandy stayed where she was, watching Mickey flip through the pages, leaving scribbled notes behind.

“You gonna help me with this?” he finally asked.

“Help you plan your wedding?” she said and laughed even harder at his glare. “Yeah, alright, I’ll help you.”

He muttered his thanks and switched his attention to the magazine again. “Gonna be my best man, too?”

Surprised by the question, Sandy hesitated. “Are you serious?”

“Not gonna ask any of those other fuckheads to do it. Pretty sure Terry’s out of running, too, and Mandy’s who the fuck knows where,” he said, his casual shrug betraying the hurt in his voice. “Leaves me with you.”

Her smile softened as she finally switched the engine back on. “Yeah, Mick. I’d like that.”

  
********  
  


“So, we didn’t really get a chance to talk yet,” Lip said as he sat at the table. “You popped the question, finally. What changed? Thought you just wanted to make him jealous.”

Staring down at the ring on his hand, Ian smiled as he twirled it around his finger. “At first, yeah, I did. But then I saw him standing there at one side of the room and I was at the other. Both just fucking miserable. It kinda just hit me.”

“What did?” Lip asked, lifting his mug to sip his coffee.

“All the ways he’s shown how much he loves me. All the gestures, you know? It just suddenly felt like the rest of the shit didn’t matter as much as I thought it did. Mick and me? The fuck haven’t we been through? Ten years on and off with juvie, Terry, my bipolar, prison, Mexico and a whole bunch of other shit between. Me loving him and him loving me? That’s the one thing that never changed,” Ian said, his smile gentle. “Getting married's not as scary as it was a couple weeks ago. I love him, more than anything. I wanna call him my husband.”

“You’re such a soft motherfucker,” Lip chuckled as he sat back. “The sex is still fantastic?”

Laughing at the memory of their conversation from all that time ago, Ian grinned. “Better than fantastic. It’s fucking unbelievable. Like my heart wants to leap outta my chest every time. Only ever felt like this with him and I know it’s ‘cause I love him. The ‘deep down to my fucking bones, can’t be without him, wanna make him happy, grow old together, beat the shit outta anyone that hurts or talks shit about him’ kind of love.”

Lip smirked in amusement. “Something else you’re not telling me?”

“I beat the shit outta Byron,” Ian shrugged, the casual words making Lip throw his head back with a laugh. “He was talking shit about Mickey. Fucking asshole deserved it.”

“Jesus,” Lip chuckled. “Fuck, I’m happy for you. Forget Frank and Monica, okay? I know I wasn’t always the biggest fan but you guys have a fucking way with each other. You always have. I got a feeling you'll be the ones that'll make this shit last.”

Smiling at the truth he heard in the words, Ian looked up when the door opened, watching Mickey toss a shopping bag on the counter before he reached for a mug of coffee.

“You gonna tell me what happened with Terry?” Ian asked.

“Don’t think he’s gonna be my best man,” Mickey muttered, standing at the counter and letting the hot liquid burn his throat going down.

“Hey, you going to school?” Lip asked, watching as their youngest brother came down the stairs.

“I can’t go to school until Frank signs a form,” Liam sighed.

Lip looked up and frowned. “What form?”

“That says I live here.”

“Just drop out,” Mickey offered from the kitchen.

“I can’t drop out. I’m ten,” Liam answered back.

“Give it to me. I’ll sign it,” Lip offered.

“Gotta be a parent.”

“I can fake Frank’s signature,” Lip snorted.

“So can I,” Ian added.

“Same here,” Mickey said, waving a hand in the air.

“School says Frank has to sign it in person,” Liam said, moving around Mickey to grab a juice from the fridge. “He’s living with some lady up in Glencoe. She drives a Rolls Royce. Anyone want to go with me?”

The grumbled replies made Liam roll his eyes as he moved towards the door, promising Lip he’d call when he got there.

“I gotta get to work. See you guys later,” Lip said, following his younger brother out.

Ian rose from the table and made his way to the counter, dropping down on a stool. He stayed quiet for a few moments, watching Mickey finish his breakfast. When Mickey finally grabbed two beers and pushed one across the counter, Ian leaned forward.

“We gonna talk about you carrying a gun?”

“He’s fucking with his parole too, by carrying one,” Mickey reminded.

“I don’t give a shit about Terry. I care about _you_.”

Mickey smiled and sipped his beer. “Doesn’t matter. Not gonna let him fuck with anything.”

“What are you talking about?”

Lowering the bottle, Mickey reached behind him and grabbed the wedding magazine, slapping it down on the counter.

“What is happening?” Ian asked, slowly looking up from the sticky notes wedged between the pages.

“Just a little bit of research,” Mickey shrugged. “How’s the guest list coming?”

“The what?” Ian frowned.

“For the wedding. Who you inviting?”

“I don’t have a list,” Ian said, his confusion obvious.

“You need a list. If I don’t know how many people are coming to the wedding, how do I know what size venue we need for the reception?” 

“We’re having a reception? At a venue? We’re having a _wedding_ wedding?” Ian asked, leaning forward.

“Jesus Christ. You think this stuff just magically happens? You gotta plan shit,” Mickey said, grabbing the magazine and moving to the table.

“Well, a month ago you were ready to get hitched at City Hall and now you want a real wedding?” Ian circled around on the stool to face him.

“A lot can happen in a month. For example, your fuckhead Dad threatened to murder you _again_ ‘cause your gay.”

“That’s what this is about? Terry?” Ian asked, moving to sit across him.

“Yup! Anything to make that miserable fuck more miserable,” Mickey exclaimed, flipping through the pages. “So, gimme your guest list, I’ll work on your vows and I will follow up with the soloist.”

“A fucking soloist?” Ian choked on his beer.

“Yeah, and not just any soloist. Motherfucker needs to be able to rock Livin’ on a Prayer acoustic, hard,” Mickey said as he looked up. “Also, I’m gonna want a shit-ton of candles so get those church boys ready.”

“Acolytes?” Ian frowned.

“I don’t care what they’re called. The little shit’s that light the candles,” Mickey said, gesturing with his hand before he pushed a paper towards Ian. “Here you go. Wrote it down for you.”

Ian stared at the list and slowly looked up. “I have a bit of money saved up but I don’t think it’s gonna pay for all of this.”

“I got money, too. Savings,” Mickey said with a casual shrug that had Ian frowning even harder. “Alright, get your ass up. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To look at flowers, Gallagher. Do I gotta tell you everything? Move your ass!” Mickey said with an irritated sigh before he disappeared out the door with the magazine in hand.

“What just happened?” Ian asked aloud, staring around the quiet house.

  
********  
  


Walking inside the florist shop an hour later, Mickey marched around the small space with Ian following his every footstep. The talk from Terry that morning was still fresh in his mind. As much as Mickey wanted to brush it off, the encounter had surfaced too many memories, fragments of time after his second stint in juvie that had always plagued him. The night Terry had caught them, the pain that followed, all moments that Mickey had long ago tried to bury but could never forget. The resulting marriage with Svetlana and everything that followed stemmed from the pain Terry had inflicted. Marrying Ian now, committing to one another was the biggest 'Fuck You' to his Father Mickey could manage. But the more the idea settled inside him, the more he wanted something bigger than a Courthouse wedding or a trip down the aisle at the Alibi like Kevin had insisted. This time, it mattered. This time, he wanted things to be different.

“We really need flowers?” Ian asked, cutting through his thoughts.

Mickey looked up at the selection and nodded. “Hell, yeah. Stargazer lilies, motherfucker.”

“How can I help you?”

Turning around, Mickey saw an old lady approaching with a bright smile. “Hey, so, I’m getting married and we’d love to see what you have in the way of Stargazer lilies.

“Let me show you some photos,” she said, leading Mickey towards an open binder on the counter. “This is the Sierra Sunset and this is what we call Beyond Blue.”

“That’s gorgeous,” Mickey said, staring down at the photo.

“Especially since we get them at the perfect time, right before they open. So they’re spectacular on your blessed day,” she added.

“Hey, I like the blue ones,” Ian said from behind.

Spinning around, Mickey gave a smile. “Yeah?”

“Are you the best man?” she cut them off.

“No,” Ian chuckled, catching Mickey’s smirk as he moved towards them. “I’m the groom? The official partner? I don’t know, we haven’t really talked about it yet.”

“So you’re homosexuals?” she stuttered.

“No, well, he is,” Mickey pointed towards Ian. “I just like having another man’s dick in my ass.”

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly said, reaching for the binder and dragging it away. “We don’t do business with your…”

“With your what?” Mickey asked, acid filling his voice as he slowly lifted his gaze.

“We don’t believe…”

“In finishing sentences, Grandma? That what you don’t believe in?” Mickey said, feeling the anger bubble inside him, replacing his excitement.

“Sodomy is a sin,” she exclaimed, gripping the binder tight at her chest.

“You know what else is a sin? Stabbing a fucking bitch in the heart! That’s a sin!” Mickey snapped and snatched a pen from the counter but Ian was quick to grab him, arms wrapping tight and pulling him away. “Gonna sodomize _you_ , you wrinkly fucking Q-tip!”

Ian struggled against his body, pushing him backwards even as Mickey spun around towards the frightened woman.

“I’m gonna come back and carve my initials in your fucking gums!”

“He’s not,” Ian assured and finally managed to push them through the door.

When they were back outside on the sidewalk, Mickey tore his arms free and stepped back. They stared at one another for a tense moment, the anger and resentment mirrored on both their faces. Finally looking away, Mickey turned on his heels and stormed off, Ian struggling to keep up behind him.

“How can you be a florist and not do business with the gays?”

“Doesn’t matter, alright? She’ll be dead soon anyway,” Ian replied.

“Whatever, you lined up a caterer, right?” Mickey asked, jotting down notes in the magazine again.

“Yes.”

“They got the Chiavari chairs?”

“Yes!”

“Gold ones with the white cushions?”

“YES!” Ian shouted, stopping mid step and watching Mickey continue down the street.

He took a deep breath, ignoring his fatigue and quickly followed across the intersection. They walked together in silence, Mickey’s face buried in his notes, neither wanting to discuss the bitter reality of what had happened. When they reached the next shop on their list, Ian walked inside with a bright smile, eyes falling on the black chairs placed on display.

“Hey, I'm Ian Gallagher. This is my fiancé, Mickey Milkovich. I called earlier and made arrangements?" Ian greeted the store clerk that approached them.

"Yes, of course, welcome!" the man smiled. 

“So, what do you think?” Ian asked, looking back at Mickey and pointing towards the seats.

Stuffing the magazine under his arm, Mickey looked up and cleared his throat. “What are these?”

“They’re the chairs you wanted,” Ian replied, his smile slowly fading.

“Was I not clear? Where the _fuck_ are the Chiavari chairs?” Mickey demanded, quickly silencing the associate when he tried to speak. “I could not have been more specific. I asked you to find me a caterer with the _gold_ Chiavari’s with the white cushions. You had _one_ job!”

“That was my fault. I thought we had those, but I was mistaken,” the associate cut in.

“But I think that any of these could work,” Ian tried to reason.

“God dammit, why does everything always have to suck? This is my fucking wedding day!” Mickey shouted, his sudden outburst drawing silence from the rest. Tossing the magazine aside, he grabbed the closest chair beside him and smashed it to pieces on the ground. “For one day, for _one_ day, can I have the gold Chiavari’s with the white cushions!”

Breathing deeply, he grabbed a broken piece and squared his shoulders, feeling his anger from both confrontations boil under his skin.

“I mean, I could call around,” the associate offered, missing the way Ian quickly shook his head.

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up!” Mickey snapped, aiming the broken piece at the other man. “Are you retarded? Answer me!”

The man swallowed hard and nodded.

“Yes, you’re retarded! Which is why we had the fucking mix-up!” Mickey shouted and finally drew back, taking another deep breath to calm his nerves.

He looked up and saw Ian watching him but instead of shock or disbelief, Ian’s eyes carried an understanding that triggered Mickey down to his core, leaving him even more vulnerable than before. Holding his hand up, he looked between Ian and the frightened clerk and finally gave a small nod.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, scratching at his brow. “This is my fault. I put too much on your plate.”

Grabbing the magazine, he backed towards the entrance and walked out, letting the door fall shut behind him. Moving a few feet away from the building, he stopped and leaned his forehead against the brick wall, closing his eyes and breathing in. When he felt a hand on his back seconds later, he made a wounded noise that had Ian yanking him around.

“Talk to me,” Ian pleaded, his hands framing Mickey’s face.

“I just lost my fucking head for a second.”

“Mick, look at me,” Ian said, waiting until their eyes met before speaking again. “We’ll fix the chairs, alright? The guy said he’ll call their other shop, see what he can do.”

“The fucking chairs don’t…,” Mickey started but let his words trail off. “We should get back to the house. Sandy's meeting us over there.”

Before Ian could tighten his hold, Mickey slipped away and started towards the train. He heard a sigh and felt a shadow over his shoulder as Ian quietly followed. Sitting beside each other on the El, Mickey kept his eyes focused forward, grateful when Ian stayed quiet, giving him the space he needed. When they walked inside the house thirty minutes later, relief washed through him when he saw Sandy sitting at the kitchen table. He fell to the chair beside her, ignoring the way Ian hesitated before he moved towards the sink. Opening the magazine, Mickey flipped to the middle and stopped on a page, jotting down a few notes as Sandy peeked over his shoulder. When Ian took a seat on the opposite end, pushing a beer across the table, Mickey looked up and their eyes met.

“I’m bringing Sandy in to help with the invitations and a few other details.”

“What, why?” Ian frowned.

“'Cause too many things are slipping through the cracks, Gallagher. The chairs were a fucking shit show,” Mickey muttered, tilting his head to the side. “Also, Sandy’s gonna be my best man. You line up yours yet?”

“Not yet, no,” Ian grumbled, lifting his beer.

The frustrated look on Mickey’s face made Sandy chuckle. “You sure you still wanna go through with this?”

“ _Yes_ , why?”

“Terry’s back at the house, making hollow tip bullets. Calls ‘em Pansy Poppers.”

“Fuck him,” Mickey growled. “You ask Debbie if Franny can be the flower girl?”

“Yeah, I sent her a text,” she nodded.

“Thank you,” Mickey said with a grateful sigh, the quiet thanks making her smile again.

“This is still about Terry, right? You don’t give a shit about weddings,” Ian cut in.

Mickey looked up but frowned, eyes narrowing on Ian’s hand. “Where the fuck’s your ring?”

Ian glanced down and quickly snapped his head back up. “I must have left it next to the sink.”

When he rushed out of his seat and walked past them, Mickey dropped his pen and leaned back, rubbing his temple from tiredness. “I can’t even.”

“I can see why you called,” Sandy snorted. “You okay, Mick? Something else happen?”

“Just fucking assholes being fucking assholes,” he grumbled but the unimpressed look on her face made him shake his head. “I’m _fine_.”

Ian was back at the table seconds later, smiling sheepishly as he raised his hand to show the ring. Mickey met his eyes and their gaze locked, a world of emotions playing out in the silent conversation.

“Tell me what you need,” Sandy asked, staring between them.

  
********  
  


Walking inside the Alibi once evening hit, they made their way through the regulars, grabbing a seat at a booth near the back wall that had started becoming theirs. Sipping the beers Kevin brought them, Mickey pressed his forehead against his palm, staring down at his notes in silence.

“How do we decide who gets to walk down the aisle?” Ian finally asked.

“Depends on who’s the bride and who’s the groom,” Mickey replied. “Either way, we need a videographer ‘cause I need to tape Terry to a chair and make him watch the shit over and over again.

“Why can’t we both be grooms?” Ian asked.

“I don’t know,” Mickey muttered.

“Can’t we just be Ian and Mickey?”

“God damn it, you and Sandy. I don’t know!” Mickey exclaimed, the stress he was feeling no longer hidden.

Ian watched him for a long moment, eyes growing soft. When a musician approached their booth seconds later, strumming away at his guitar, Mickey looked up in confusion.

_“She said we gotta hold on, to what we got,”_ the man sang to the chords. _“It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not.”_

“How the fuck did you know that?” Mickey asked.

“Little bird told me,” the man said, tilting his head towards Ian.

Suddenly, all of Mickey’s anxiety from the day faded. He switched his gaze to Ian and the moment their eyes locked, Mickey felt a calmness inside him, one that silenced all the loud voices.

“You’re a sneaky bastard,” he said and the bright smile Ian gave him made his heart swell deep inside his chest.

_“We’ll give it a shot! Woah, we’re halfway there! Woah, livin’ on a prayer now!”_

Hearing the words in the background, Mickey reached across the table and tangled their hands together. The softness in Ian’s eyes as he held on even tighter was enough for Mickey to catch his breath.

_“Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear. Woah, livin’ on a prayer!”_ the man finished, strumming a last chord and finally stepping away. “Gallagher has my contact info. Gimme a call.”

With a wave, he disappeared towards the bar, receiving cheers from the regulars as he went. Shaking his head, Mickey couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.

“Can’t believe you got the soloist to serenade me at the fucking Alibi,” he chuckled. “Forgot to give the guy a call with all the other shit today.”

Squeezing his hands a final time, Ian rose to his feet and climbed over the bench with a painful grunt, falling to Mickey’s other side. He spread his arm across Mickey’s shoulders and pulled him in, tangling their hands together.

“Look, we can have a nice wedding if that’s what you want,” Ian started. “We can put together whatever money we got saved up and have that but don’t let it just be because of Terry.”

“It’s not,” Mickey said, sighing quietly.

“Then what? Talk to me,” Ian said. “I didn’t think you cared about weddings. Just a piece of paper, remember?”

“Not with _you_ ,” Mickey said, the words silencing Ian. “For a long fucking time, I didn’t think this was ever gonna happen. I was fucking terrified of the guy, you know?”

He looked down, gaze unfocused, memories flashing through his mind. Moments he’d been trying all day to forget, memories he could no longer keep hidden.

“When he caught us, when he put a fucking gun to your head and brought Svet…,” he started but remembering that day made him swallow, the words fading with it. “One of the worst fucking days of my life and I got a shit load of ‘em.” He looked to the side, grateful that Ian was patient, giving him the time he needed. “Forced me to marry her. He didn’t have a gun to my head but it still felt like he did. Had one to yours, too.”

Ian raised the hand he had stretched across and buried it in Mickey’s hair. Cradling the back of his neck, he tilted Mickey’s head so their eyes could lock again.

“It’s not just a piece of paper no more, you know? It’s you and me. It fucking matters, Mickey said, his eyes glazing over. 

“I know,” Ian said, blinking against the wetness in his own eyes.

“I was so fucking miserable that day, seeing her all dressed up, all those assholes sitting there, watching us get hitched,” Mikey continued, his voice carrying a pain that had Ian pushing even closer beside him. “Took me a long fucking time to get used to the idea of marriage again. But when I showed up in prison and we fixed things, it wasn’t just a dream no more.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered. “I know my fears almost ruined this.”

“That’s not…,” Mickey said and sighed again. “Look, man, we’re here, we’re getting married. It's happening and it matters, Ian. I just want it to be different.”

Smiling softly, Ian ran his hands across Mickey’s face. Their lips were slow, moving together with a gentle press. Breaking away, Ian trailed his lips behind Mickey's ear, covering the skin with kisses, one after another. The moment was private, just between them, the rest of the world absent. When Mickey’s fingers gripped tight against his waist, a happy noise slipping out from deep inside him, Ian pulled back and kissed his lips again. Leaning their foreheads together, they kept their eyes closed for a brief second, breathing each other in.

“Still can’t believe you fucking serenaded me.”

The words were enough to make Ian laugh as they pulled back, their hands still tangled below the table. “Just wanted to take some of your stress away.”

“I know another way you can do that,” Mickey smirked.

Ian laughed again as they slipped out from the booth and made their way towards the counter. Before Mickey could grab his wallet, Kevin waved him off, flinging his rag in the air.

“All good, Romeos,” he said, grinning brightly. “Looking forward to the big event.”

“You guys are gonna look so nice, all dressed up in your tuxes,” V added, slipping under Kev’s arm. “I cry at weddings so get prepared for a bucket of tears.”

Smiling at their old friends, Ian gave a wave and pushed Mickey towards the exit. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, Mickey tucked the magazine under his arm. Before he could open his mouth to comment, his gaze caught on the other end of the street. A car was idling, tinted windows, revving the engine.

“What is it?” Ian asked, frowning at the sudden pause.

When the car shot away from the curb and screeched forward, Mickey acted on instinct and shoved Ian behind him. The abruptness of the move made Ian stumble backwards, watching as the car pulled to a sudden stop. The moment the door burst open, Mickey threw his head back and shouted.

“Patterson? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Mickey, what the hell?” Ian asked, moving back beside him.

Dressed in a sharp suit, the driver took a step forward and extended his hand, patting Mickey on his arm. “Good seeing you again.”

“Fuck, no, it isn’t!” Mickey snapped. “The fuck are you doing here, lurking in the street, following me?”

“I wasn’t lurking!” the man argued back.

“Mick, who the hell is this?” Ian cut in.

“Special Agent Jim Patterson with the fucking Feds,” Mickey muttered. "Emphasis on the 'special' part."

Jim took a step towards a shocked Ian and shook his hand. “The ginger hair, I’m guessing that makes you Ian? The boyfriend?”

“Fiancé,” Ian corrected.

“Congratulations are in order, then. This one here wouldn’t stop yapping about you. Ian this, Ian that. Got on my Goddamn nerves,” Jim said with a hearty laugh.

“First of all, fuck you,” Mickey snapped. “Second, the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“What is with all the hostility? I thought we were friends,” Jim exclaimed, the wounded look on his face making Mickey’s eyes narrow in a glare. “Alright, Jesus. There’s been a lot of chatter that the Calderón is gaining strength in numbers again. They're under surveillance. We’ve been monitoring everything with the DEA and haven’t seen anything that suggests the chatter is accurate but we can’t ignore the rumblings either.”

“Is that the cartel you worked for in Mexico?” Ian asked.

Mickey gave him a quick nod. “Fucking Warden gave me a scare when I got released. Said shit about them wanting to welcome me back.”

“Your name was shielded from Court documents and your testimony was never identified to any papers. Only four people know of your corroboration with the Federal Government against Calderón. Myself, the Director, Deputy Director and the US States Attorney. And your fiancé now, I guess,” Jim explained. “Plus, you were using a fake ID while you were down there, anyway.”

“So you’re telling me I’m good?” Mickey asked. “I don’t need to look over my fucking shoulder?”

“I’m telling you that you’re good,” Jim said with a nod. “But stick on the side of caution 'cause the Cartel's arm reaches pretty far. So do yourself a favor and keep out of trouble, stay out of prison.”

“I got you to thank for the early release?” Mickey asked.

“I may have pulled some strings,” Jim said, his smile genuine. “Your cooperation in the prosecution of the El Chapo case was crucial, especially with Calderón. I would have pushed harder for leniency but you were insistent on going back home to the prison of your choosing.”

Mickey quickly glanced at Ian and saw the recognition play out in his eyes. When he looked back towards Jim, the Agent was smiling. “You sticking around?"

“I have some business at the office here in Chicago for a couple weeks so I thought I'd track you down,” Jim said with a nod. “Congratulations again on the engagement. If I stick around long enough, you plan on inviting me to the wedding?”

“Fuck, no!” Mickey said, the words making Patterson laugh.

With another pat to Mickey’s shoulder, he climbed back inside his car and drove away. Turning to the side, Mickey saw the hundred questions playing in Ian’s eyes and held a hand out to stop him.

“Been a long fucking day, man. Can we go home before you start asking all the shit you wanna ask me?”

Ian hesitated but finally nodded. Spreading his arm across Mickey’s shoulders, they started making their way down the sidewalk, switching the conversation back to the wedding again. When they reached the house an hour later, the shouting from inside made them frown as they hurried in.

“What the hell is going on?” Ian asked, looking between Tami and Lip as they stood facing each other with Carl, Debbie and Liam gathered on the couch.

“We’re moving,” Tami explained. “My family has a house for us in Milwaukee and we’re moving there.”

“No, we’re not,” Lip argued.

“Why? Give me one good reason we shouldn’t?” 

“Maybe because my whole fucking family is here!” Lip shouted back. “So is yours! We have no one in Milwaukee.”

“We can’t start fresh?” Tami exclaimed.

Fred’s sudden cry from the crib made them stop and rush towards him. Tami pulled the baby into her arms, rocking him slowly in apology as Lip caressed his son’s face, tender in his touches.

“Milwaukee?” Ian asked, looking to his other siblings.

“Everyone’s moving away,” Liam muttered, rising from his spot and disappearing up the stairs.

Debbie shrugged and moved towards the kitchen with Carl following in her footsteps. Mickey reached out to touch Ian’s arm, pulling him out of his thoughts and back to the present. They shared a look and slowly made their way to their bedroom, closing the door behind them.

“Milwaukee, huh?” Mickey asked, pulling his jacket off. “How you feel about that?”

“I don’t really know,” Ian said, sitting on the mattress and removing his leg brace. “I mean, as messed up as we all were growing up, we still love each other in our own way, you know? But I get it. We’re all starting our own families too. Debbie’s got Franny. Lip’s got Fred and Tami. Me? I got you.”

He reached out and pulled Mickey between his legs, holding onto his thighs and looking up. Smiling gently, Mickey held the sides of his face, brushing the loose strands of hair away.

“Tell me about Mexico?” Ian asked.

Looking away at the question, Mickey pulled out of the embrace and started stripping down to his boxers. "I told you, it’s a long story.”

“I tried asking you back in prison but you kept telling me it didn’t matter,” Ian said, pulling his own clothes off before he sat back against the headboard. “That’s a big chunk of your life I don’t know about, Mick. Talk to me.”

Giving in with a sigh, Mickey moved to the other side and sat beside him, stretching his legs out over the mattress. He lit a smoke from his pack and took a long drag, letting it settle in his lungs to relax him.

“When I crossed the border, I was a fucking mess. My mind was fucked, you know?” he started, keeping his gaze focused on the wall. “Drove a few hours, no real destination. Ended up stopping at this shithole bar in some shitty tourist town. Walked right in, wearing that fucking dress. At least I fucking remembered to take the wig and earrings off before I went in.”

He snorted and took another drag as Ian watched him in silence.

“The girl behind the counter, she had this dark hair and angry look to her. Reminded me of Mandy,” he said, shaking his head at the memory. “Had this ‘stay the fuck away or I’ll chop your nuts off’ look on her face. Think she only talked to me ‘cause of the fucking dress. She poured me a drink and told me to spill and I fucking spilled, man. Couldn’t stop talking about shit. Not the smartest fucking move but I told her about prison, about me escaping. Told her about _you_ , how much I fucking hated you and couldn’t stop loving your ginger ass all the fucking same."

“Mick,” Ian said, but Mickey shrugged his hand off when he reached for him.

“Lemme get this shit out,” he said, stubbing the smoke out in the ashtray. “She asked me if I had a change of clothes ‘cause the lowlife pieces of shit inside the bar were already looking at me fucking weird. I was halfway drunk so she got my bag from the car, helped me change back into my jeans and shit. Tried cutting me off after that but I told her to keep it coming. Just wanted to forget, you know?”

Ian looked away, blinking back the tears in his eyes. Mickey’s eyes followed but instead of reaching out to comfort him, he stayed rooted in his spot. Mexico had always been a sore topic between them, one they had never really brought to the surface.

“Door opened and these guys came in. All the other bums cleared the fucking joint when they did. The assholes started hassling her, saying all sorts of shit. I picked a fight ‘cause I was drunk and stupid and just really pissed off. They got a few good shots in but I fucked ‘em up pretty good. She was fucking awesome, too. Smashed bottles over their heads and shot one in his fucking crotch.”

Rubbing his eyes, Mickey leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Fucking assholes were rolling around on the ground. She called her cousin and the guy showed up a few minutes later with a fucking gang. His guys dragged the assholes outside. Never found out what the hell happened. Wasn't good, whatever did. The cousin came over and she told him I helped her, told him she thought I was a good guy having a really bad fucking day,” Mickey said and tilted his head, stopping when he saw the look in Ian’s eyes.

“What happened?” Ian asked instead.

“Guy’s name was Emilio,” Mickey continued. “He wanted to show his thanks or whatever so he offered me a job. Lotsa tourists came through the town so the job was working a corner slinging dope. It was real nickel and dime shit but not like I had a whole fucking lot going for me.”

“But the money,” Ian started. “I wanted you to take it and go somewhere safe, go to the beach like you wanted.”

“I wanted that shit for the both of us, Gallagher. Never touched a fucking dime.”

“Mick!” Ian exclaimed. “I gave that to you because I wanted to make sure you'd be okay.”

“The fuck you want me to say, man? I never used it. Gave it all to some fucking convent charity place for orphans down the street before I even went to the bar. Sister Teresa said a bunch of prayers in your name,” Mickey said with a shrug, missing the pained look in Ian’s eyes. “Emilio got me this hole in the wall room in a shitty apartment downtown. Hookers and fucking drivebys ever other night. It sucked but it was a roof, you know? The corner they got me working at, bunch of college kids would come around, looking to score all sorts of shit. Everything sucked until I met this other kid, Carlos. Eighteen years old. He was a fucking painter, talented as hell but he worked another corner like me, slinging dope. Everyone in that fucking town worked for Calderón.”

“Who were they?” Ian asked.

“Enforcer group for the Sinaloa Cartel, the fucking mother ship down in Mexico,” Mickey said. “Once you’re in, you’re in. Can’t just walk away.”

“Where did Agent Patterson come in?”

“First couple months were a fucking blur. Worked, drank, fucked whatever available guy I could find,” Mickey said, catching the narrowed pinch in Ian’s face. “But Carlos was funny. Was stuck there like every other asshole in the place but he was fun to hang out with. Acted tough but the kid wasn’t cut out for any of it.”

He reached for another smoke but Ian covered his hand, the move forcing Mickey to look up. Their eyes locked for a long moment, no words needed between them, until Mickey finally lowered the smokes back down on the bed.

“We hung out at the bar most of the time when we weren’t working. Emilio started coming by, hanging out. I just thought it was 'cause his cousin owned the place, you know? But the vibe was off.”

“He wanted to fuck you or kill you?” Ian asked, his voice quiet.

“Think a bit of both,” Mickey snorted. “Said he wanted to move me up the chain of command. Can’t exactly say no so they started taking me on runs. Only fucking use Terry ever had was giving tips on all that criminal shit, how to get away with it and whatever the fuck else. Shit you paid attention to, shit you'd pretend you never saw. Few weeks in, we drove out to this bar three hours away in Fucktown, Nowhere. Another gang was there and they got into some beef about percentages. Emilio's guys…”

“What?” Ian nudged him when he stopped.

“It’s the Cartel, man. The fuck you think they did?” Mickey said, swallowing the thickness in his throat. “Killed the whole fucking group but they didn't just shoot 'em. Beat 'em bloody, tied 'em down and fucking tortured 'em. Then he looked at me like it was a fucking test. If I blinked, if I puked, if I passed the fuck out or took off, they'd have killed me the same way. I just stood there, stared back. He gave me this smile that creeped me the fuck out. We drove back, they dropped me off at my shithole place and I sat up the whole damn fucking night, staring at the door. Not what I had in mind when I crossed the border, you know?”

“Jesus,” Ian whispered. “That’s…”

“Fucked up?” Mickey answered as their eyes met. “Seen a lot of shit in my time, man. Terry as my Dad, in and outta juvie and prison a third 'my fucking life, it’s not exactly been rainbows and sunshine, you know? But what happened there, at that bar? Scared the fucking shit outta me.”

Ian reached out and took his hand, tilting on the bed so he could fully face him. “Fuck, Mick.”

“Doesn’t matter. Went back to slinging dope after that and kept my distance. Then one fucking day, these two idiot college kids showed up looking to score and they were wearing these shirts with your face on ‘em. Gay Jesus,” he said, watching as Ian steered his gaze downward. “All the other fuckheads working with us, most of ‘em were too fucked up on all the dope we were selling but the kid, Carlos, he had half a fucking brain. Asked him to do some research, figure out what the fuck was going on with you. He told me all about the fucked up shit you were doing.”

“Not my finest moment,” Ian spoke quietly.

Mickey waited until their eyes met before speaking again. “I had a choice. I knew I wanted out, wanted to come back home, leave all that fucked up shit behind but the fucking Cartel, they don’t just let you leave. You either gotta roll on ‘em to the Feds, they kill you or you stay until you get killed anyway. Not a lot of fucking choices but seeing your face like that, knowing where you were going, it kinda made the choice easier.”

Ian gripped his hand harder but Mickey looked away again, staring at the wall.

“The kid wasn’t hardcore, either. Wanted to be a fucking painter. I told him I wanted out and he said he wanted out, too. Closest embassy was in Mexico City, ten hours from the shit hole town we were in. Plan was for me to sneak out when me and the other assholes had the night off, meet the kid at this spot and drive down together. I’d turn myself in, make a deal for us both. I went, I waited but the kid never showed up. I fucking promised him, you know? Wouldn’t leave him behind. So I stashed the car, snuck back and found him.”

“Where was he?” Ian asked quietly.

“They fucking crucified him in the middle of town, hung a dead rat around his neck,” Mickey said and rubbed his eyes, feeling the grip on his free hand tighten as Ian held him. “Fucking Emilio. Called himself El Diablo. The fucking _Devil_. He was just a kid.”

“You both were,” Ian whispered, the truth in his words making them look down.

“I fucking ran. Drove through the night,” Mickey said, finally facing Ian again. “Walked right up to the embassy, told ‘em my name, said I wanted to make a deal, roll on the sons of bitches I was working for. Patterson walked in six hours later.”

He pulled his hand away and pushed off the bed, dropping the pack of smokes on the nightstand. Ian watched as he moved around the small space, needlessly putting things away, keeping his hands busy.

“Patterson was a fucking junior Fed. They sent him ‘cause they didn’t think I had anything worth a fuck but I did. Knew a whole lotta shit on their drug operation. Kept my fucking eyes open, remember? Drugs matter more than the fucking people 'cause you kill a bunch of 'em, more show up the next day. But you take out their drug network, that’s when they start losing control of the territory and shit. So I told him everything I knew. The drop off spots, safe houses, drug mules, whatever the fuck I picked up on,” Mickey said, moving towards the closet and shoving his jacket inside. “All I wanted was a ticket home.”

“Mick, come here,” Ian said, keeping his voice gentle. “Come here.”

His shoulders dropped as he made his way towards the bed, letting Ian pull him between his legs. Ian squeezed his thighs as he looked up, the touch letting Mickey know that he was there.

“Feds worked with the Mexican police and did a raid, got a shit-ton of dope off the streets. Bunch of low level assholes got killed and a bunch else of those fuckers got thrown in jail. Emilio got killed, too. That's what they said, anyway," Mickey shrugged. "Patterson made a fucking name for himself. Said he would try and push for immunity or at least get my original sentence knocked down.”

“But I was going to prison,” Ian said quietly.

“Yeah, your dumb ass was going to prison,” Mickey nodded, smiling down. “They gave me the prison I wanted, took the escape off my bid, reduced my sentence back to the original eight and I’d do parole in four. So two extra after you’d leave the joint. I was okay with it. Got me outta that fucking place, back home, back where you were.”

Ian let his head fall against Mickey’s waist. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the scent that he had fallen in love with a decade ago, the scent that always soothed him. When Mickey ran a hand through his hair, Ian made a noise and gripped him even tighter around his legs.

“Like Patterson said, they kept my name outta documents. Testimony was never made public. Was using a fake name down there, too, so it's good. We don't gotta worry about that shit," Mickey said, shrugging slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Ian cut him off, looking up with red eyes. “Mick, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Hey,” Mickey frowned. “I didn’t tell you all this for you to go all apeshit emotional on me. It’s in the fucking past.”

Instead of answering, Ian jumped to his feet and grabbed Mickey’s face. The kiss painful, teeth clattering together in a bruising display. When Ian finally pulled back to give them air, Mickey’s eyes were still closed as he swayed backwards a step. He licked his lips as Ian watched him, their heartbeats loud in the silence.

“I should’ve gone with you,” Ian whispered, one arm wrapping behind Mickey’s shoulders to draw him closer, the other cradling the back of his head. “If I was there, none of that shit would’ve happened. Fuck, Mickey. I’m so sorry.”

Breathing in, Mickey burrowed his face deeper in Ian’s neck, their hold on one another growing tighter. Since their reunion back in prison, Mickey had allowed himself the comfort of those embraces more often, no longer afraid of seeking Ian’s open arms. Hearing those words of apology healed a wound deep inside him, one he had kept silent in the two years they’d been together again. He had been too desperate to hold onto what they had, too scared of losing Ian again. But the rings on their fingers gave Mickey more than hope. It let him believe Ian when he made his promises, believed his words of apology.

“I love you,” Ian whispered, leaving a kiss at his neck. “I love you.”

Mickey felt the same. He always felt the same. But he didn’t have the energy to say the words this time. Lifting his hands, he pulled on Ian's hair instead and burrowed his face deeper against his chest. Ian recognized the meaning like he always did, a silent understanding that existed between them, one where words were not always needed. 

Trailing his lips across Mickey’s skin, Ian's hands moved up and down in soothing circles. They moved until they were on the bed, Ian’s back to the wall and Mickey between his arms, face to face. Pulling the blanket to cover their bodies, Ian inched closer, brushing their lips together.

“Never gonna let you go again."

Any other time, Mickey would have played the moment off with humor, pushed Ian away and made fun of the emotional statement. But he needed to hear those words like all the rest. He needed the brief moment to feel vulnerable, to let his fears surface and let Ian’s words soothe him. When they leaned their foreheads together and closed their eyes, Mickey felt Ian’s arm tighten around him as if he were afraid to let in any space. He smiled at the neediness of his partner, one that mirrored his own, and tucked himself closer in the warmth.

When they had first started all those years ago, Mickey had been terrified to show his true feelings. He’d gone back every time, an ache inside him that yearned for Ian’s touch, but made sure to keep the emotions at a distance. That moment at the Alibi had been the change. They’d spent the years that followed trying to make things work, to have everything only to lose it all. But everything had finally worked out. They were together, their future within touching grasp. Terry was still a threat but not even his twisted, homophobic sperm donor could take the happiness that Mickey felt, away. He was wrapped around the man he had loved for so much of his life and Ian was wrapped around him. The love they had for one another was mirrored, never to be questioned again. They were together, in love, safe under the blankets. The rest of the world could fuck off for all Mickey cared.

“Still can’t believe you serenaded me.”

The words were enough to lighten the moment and pull them from the heaviness of his confession. Laughing quietly, Ian kissed his forehead and closed his eyes again, the sweetness of his touch making Mickey’s smile grow in the darkness. They were walking down the aisle in a few days, soon to be husbands. Ten years ago, that had been nothing more than a dream. Now it was real. Nothing else mattered.


End file.
